


there is a light that never goes out

by botaniques (flamboyantgentleman)



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunion, tsoa reference, you know how they be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamboyantgentleman/pseuds/botaniques
Summary: He simply said my name. Then, we just… were. Two souls together in one spot.It is like the righting of some unnamed thing, deep at his core; a mending of places so long broken that the searing, wordless relief of it burns away all else.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 120





	there is a light that never goes out

**Author's Note:**

> _to die by your side  
>  is such a heavenly way to die  
> to die by your side  
> well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine_

_"No words really needed to be said, when I arrived. He simply said my name. Then, we just… were. Two souls together in one spot. The way shades linger, it looks mournful, right? But it isn't always."_

  


-

  


"My Achilles."

They meet then, a swelling like waves on the shore: first the tips of their fingers, and then their hands, arms, chests... until finally - _finally_ \- he cradles his hand to the nape of Patroclus's hair, fits his head into the crook of his neck, and they are pressed together as one. 

It is like the righting of some unnamed thing, deep at his core; a mending of places so long broken that the searing, wordless relief of it burns away all else. He is made whole again, brought back together in pieces he thought had long since been lost to the ravages of grief. 

Patroclus moves in his arms, mouth finding his, and they are reborn anew. It happens as if for the first time: lips soft as they had not been in war, beard fine and rasping against his jaw. They drink their fill and part slow, languid, a tide drawing out and taking with it all the things Achilles had planned to say. 

He lets the tide pull him to his knees, then, bearing into the warmth of Patroclus' arms as he bows to it. The words drown unspoken on his tongue; he knows nothing could name this feeling, a joy so sharp and knife-bright that it is almost anguish. 

Kneeling instead, he touches his head to the earth at his lover's feet. _This place_ , he thinks, _which has so long kept me from you_. It cannot keep him now: the grass yields for him, and dew streaks his skin like tears yet unshed. Patroclus bends to meet him, to follow as he always has, and coaxes Achilles' head into the cradle of his lap.

"Patroclus," is all Achilles says, his mouth relearning the shape of the word. _Pa-tro-clus_. Warm, wide hands cup his jaw in answer. He puts his lips to them then, makes them say the things he cannot. _I am sorry. I have wronged you, my heart._ It is all at once every penance he has ever suffered, cast in the spaces between each breath: _I have died a thousand deaths, one for every moment I have spent without you by my side._

He knows that Patroclus understands. Achilles knelt for no man, in life; this supplication is the fruit of his pride undone, here in the arms of the only one who could ever bring him true glory. 

Patroclus' hand strokes his hair, and he looks up into dark eyes that have always known him. "I had so much to tell you," he confesses, "but now I fear there are no words left to say." 

Those keen eyes crinkle at the corners, and Achilles finds he cannot help but lift a hand to trace the delicate lines there: a memory of laughter, shared a hundred lifetimes ago. 

"My Achilles," Patroclus repeats, curving over him to rest their foreheads together. Dark hair curtains him, familiar and soothing. "When have we needed words?" 

It is absolution. It is an ending, and a beginning, and the great swelling current of it sweeps away the words still jumbled in his throat. He imagines them cast out into the ocean that once separated him from his Patroclus - no longer. 

There is no true silence in Elysium. Instead there is the soft, frothing babble of the Lethe all around them, the gentle whisper of grass underfoot. And beneath, a furtive and fledgeling song plucked from the strings of fate itself: two phantom hearts, beating as one.

**Author's Note:**

> title and lyrics are from _there is a light that never goes out_ by the smiths.
> 
> find me on twitter [@rk_42O](https://twitter.com/rk_42O)!


End file.
